


Best Everything

by tarie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:11:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2170590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarie/pseuds/tarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's brooding and Ron yells at him during Quidditch practise. Captain Jack Sloper makes them run laps as penance. Later, Harry apologises - in an unusual way - for getting Ron in trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Everything

"Laps. You two. _Now_." 

"What?!" Ron loosened his grip on Harry's forearm and straightened so quickly on his broom that he nearly overbalanced. He whipped his head round to lock eyes with Jack Sloper and scowled. Sloper, the newly-appointed Gryffindor Quidditch captain, was pointing toward the ground.

"What do you mean by 'what', Weasley?" Sloper said, circling Ron and Harry, giving the tail of Ron's broom a kick as he went by. 

"WHAT?!" Ron snapped. "What did we do? And what the sodding hell are 'laps'?!" Annoyed, he mimicked Sloper's pointing and huffed.

Beside him, Harry nudged the handle of his broom down and started to descend. "Where do you think you're going, mate? Get back here!"

Harry stopped and hovered a few feet below Ron. He met Ron's gaze for a brief moment, his eyes guarded and his mouth turned down in that miserable sort of frown that had got Ron on his case in the first place. "Captain's orders, Ron. Laps." Before Ron could retort, he'd started heading for the ground again.

Sloper snorted. "At least Potter can take a direct order from his _captain_." He crossed his arms importantly, hugging his Beater's bat to his chest, and arched a brow as he sneered at Ron. "You know what you did, Weasley."

"I do?" Ron wasn't sure what he'd done to earn laps, but he was pretty sure he knew what he wanted to do to Sloper right then - it involved wrenching that bat out of his grasp and beating the smug look right off of Sloper's face.

"Oh, don't you remember that you were supposed to be manning the hoops instead of sidling up to Potter and bellowing your head off at him?" 

"I know what I'm s'posed to do as Keeper," said Ron heatedly, warmth rising in his cheeks. "But it's been a slow practice and Harry wasn't even _looking_ for the Snitch so I knew something was wrong with him and nipped over to see what it was! Besides, the Quaffle's been on the other side of the pitch nearly all night and it wasn't like I haven't been doing my job the other ten bazamillion minutes here, man!"

Sloper opened his mouth and quickly shut it as though he'd had second thoughts about whatever it was he was going to say and Ron wondered what that was all about. He thought about asking Sloper what his ruddy problem was, but then he spoke up. Prat sounded awfully patronising to Ron's ears. "Obviously you don't know what you're supposed to do as Keeper, because a Keeper never leaves his post unless it's an absolute emergency. Potter wasn't any of your concern. Your concern is those three hoops and what doesn't get into them. Now get to the ground and do your laps, Weasley."

Ron gritted his teeth hard. He wanted nothing more than to lay into Sloper. Where did he get off using that smarmy tone with Ron, for starters? For another thing, Harry _was_ Ron's concern, whether Sloper realised it or not. Besides, even if Harry wasn't Ron's concern, teammates ought to always look out for one another. That only seemed _right_. Anyway, it _had_ been an emergency. Sloper hadn't been watching; he hadn't seen Harry just coast to a stop mid-flight and hover there, one hand clutching at his forehead and then fingers scratching at his scar and twisting in his hair. Something had got into Harry and it wasn't the time or place for it. That's why Ron had flown full-throttle at him and started shouting at him, to get Harry to snap out of it, whatever 'it' was. Ron didn't know and he figured that Harry wouldn't tell him. But still and all. Harry was his mate and his concern, not to mention his responsibility. Ron had a very strict code of honour where Harry was concerned. Just because no one else was really aware of it didn't mean it wasn't absolutely the most important thing to him.

He wanted nothing more than to lay into Sloper but he didn't. It just wasn't worth it, Ron decided. The git had been on such a power trip ever since he'd been named captain just before Quidditch trials had been held that Ron would almost have given anything to have Angelina Johnson or Oliver Wood, as demanding as they'd been, back. Almost. 

Instead of letting Sloper have it, Ron smiled a broad, forced smile, gave Sloper a mock salute - followed by the certainly very serious two-fingered salute, and nosed his broom down. Still not understanding why he was told to go to the ground to do laps, as the only kind of laps Ron were familiar with were the sort that the team flew about the pitch for warm-ups before practices and games, Ron touched down and watched as Harry leant his broom against one of the stands. 

"Well?" he asked impatiently.

"Well?" repeated Harry, fiddling with one of the straps on a glove.

"What's with the broom there?" said Ron, nodding at Harry's broom.

"Can't exactly do my laps carrying my broom," said Harry, shrugging.

That was it. Ron was done being calm about the whole situation. He really was. Harry'd gone and zoned out and didn't even thank Ron for getting him to break out of his reverie or daydream or whatever it was and then Sloper scolded them both and gave them some ruddy ridiculous punishment that Ron didn't even _understand_ and there Harry was, all acting as casual as you please. Not on. 

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!" Ron said, throwing his hands up in the air as he dismounted his broom, which promptly fell to the ground. "We can't do laps if we're not on our brooms, you know!!!"

Harry stopped tugging at the leather strap and looked up at Ron in a way that Ron didn't really like very much. "Er...yes, we can." He coughed and shifted his weight. "Sloper meant we were to do laps around the pitch, like running."

"Like what?"

"Er...running?"

"WHAT?!"

"What?"

Ron couldn't believe this. He really could not. How twisted _was_ this Sloper bloke? "What the sodding hell is THAT?! Who ever heard of _running_ laps about the Quidditch pitch?! That's daft!"

"Most Muggle athletes run laps, Ron." Harry shrugged again and Ron stared back at him, not liking this whole Muggle athletics meeting Quidditch training one bloody bit.

"Well that's not bloody--"

Before Ron could get all of his complaint out, Harry had damned well taken off on him! There he went, making his way down the pitch. To do a lap. Probably many laps. Running. Running laps. Yes, Harry was definitely running. He was probably almost done with his first lap, actually. Harry. The Boy Who Lapped and all that. 

From somewhere high over his head, he heard Sloper yell down, telling Ron to "get the lead out of your arse, Weasley, and get moving!" Ron didn't think he had lead in his arse, unless Ginny, who had moved to Chaser this year, hexed him as he had passed her on his way to the ground. Looking up, he gave Sloper a glare - not like it did any good as Sloper was too far away to see it - and then slowly began to run. 

Bloody hell, it was awkward to run in full Quidditch gear. It weighed a good bit and the sun was beating down, which was just making Ron hotter than he would have been just running about with the padding on. Still, he knew he had to do these damned laps and so he just pushed on. Behind him he could hear the pounding of feet on the ground. Harry. He slowed down even more and waited for Harry to fall into step beside him. It only took a few moments and there Harry was, his shoulder brushing against Ron's as they ran around the pitch. Harry didn't say anything and Ron wasn't sure that Harry would answer him if he spoke up, so he just stared straight ahead and listened to the sound of their feet moving against the grass and dirt, the jingling of the buckles on their pads, and the way their breath came out in short bursts together in time. Occasionally Ron would glance sidelong at Harry, but Harry never once looked at him and Harry never once said anything to him. For some reason this really hacked Ron off. It would have been nice if Harry made _some_ sort of comment about what had happened up there. It'd be even better if he said he was sorry or acknowledged that it was because of him that they were stuck running in this blasted circle. 

But Harry didn't make any comment at all.

Fine.

"Fine." Ron muttered under his breath and broke out in front of Harry. He'd been holding back so they could do their ruddy laps together, but if Harry wasn't going to talk to him, then Ron was going to go at his own pace and serve his bloody punishment on his own. Obviously Harry was too caught up in whatever it was that'd gotten them in trouble in the first place to be arsed to talk to his best mate. Fine. Ever since Sirius had died last spring, Harry would behave like this, Ron would try to help him, and nothing would really get accomplished. Today Ron wasn't in the mood to keep after Harry until he got fed up enough to talk. Let him stew. 

While he was finishing up his fifth lap, Ron decided that Muggles were out of their gourds - at least, the athletic ones were. This running around in a circle thing made no sense to him and he didn't see how it could possibly help him to become a better Quidditch player, or how it would make a Muggle footballer better at their game, or a cricket player and so on. Running around in a circle was really rather pointless. He knew it damned well wasn't going to make him be a better Keeper or a faster flier. The only thing he figured this was good for was making him feel out of breath and all sweaty. Ugh. He was definitely sweaty. Sweat was slipping down his forehead and into his eyes, so he kept wiping at his face while he ran. At least he could wipe _that_ off. He couldn't reach the sweat that was pooling in the middle of his back. His jumper was sticking to him right in the centre of his back, all along the spine; he could feel it. It was uncomfortable, having a sweaty back and not being able to do anything about it. Ron grimaced and, as he rounded a corner, shrugged his shoulders a few times in a half-hearted attempt to get the fabric to stop sticking to his skin. It didn't really work, though. The fabric just sort of lifted and then settled right back on the wet spot, sticking fast to him again. Cursing under his breath, he pushed back damp hair that'd fallen into his eyes and picked up his speed.

When Sloper and the rest of his teammates touched down on the field a little bit later, Ron grinned with relief and headed toward the centre of the pitch. Directly opposite him was Harry, who did the same. Ginny hooted and hollered at them both, laughing as Ron gave her the two-fingered salute as well. Digging his wand out of the back pocket of his uniform trousers, Ron Summoned his broom. Pocketing the wand, he slung the broom over his shoulder and stood beside Ginny, panting loudly in her ear to annoy her and dodging to avoid her swatting hands, while Sloper gave notes to each player about their performance that afternoon and talked about the next practice. When the team was dismissed, Ron nodded at Harry, who was standing next to Sloper wearing an unreadable expression, and headed back toward the changing rooms. He hadn't gotten very far before Sloper called after him. "Not so fast, Weasley. You and Potter are going to reorganise the broom shed before you hit the shower."

_Wanker._

Not bothering to turn around to acknowledge the order, Ron raised a hand above his head and waved it about, barely restraining himself from giving Sloper another rude gesture before dropping his hand by his side, fingers curling in a fist. He passed the doors to the changing rooms and went around the back of the building to where the broom shed was. Harry was already there; he must have gone along the other side. Ron stopped just short of him and used the handle of his broom to motion toward the door. "Go on then," said Ron, slightly out of breath still from all of that running. "Open her up."

Harry nodded, curled his fingers around the handle, and then looked up at Ron. "Er...are you all right?"

Ron blinked. _What? Is that all he can say?!_ "No," said Ron. "I'm not all right. I'm DYING."

He could have sworn that the corners of Harry's mouth twitched for a moment there. "You're dying?" Harry said politely. 

"Yes. DYING. I'm DYING from those bloody daft Muggle LAPS." Ron sucked in a large breath and coughed, waving his broom around. "See? Do you hear me? My lungs are collapsing on one another right this bleeding minute. Any second now they're going to go and then my legs will give out and it's only a matter of time before a Howler'll be here from my mum cos you've got us in trouble and I died!"

"Ron...." Harry shook his head and yanked open the door. "You're not dying. Honestly."

"No," Ron grumbled, stepping inside the small shed. "I'm not. But I feel like I am."

Harry grunted in response and shut the door after them. In the absence of windows, the inside of the broom shed was very dim. A thin beam of light shone underneath the bottom of the door, but that wasn't enough to be able to see to do their work by far. 

"I do feel like I am," said Ron peevishly. " _Lumos_." The tip of his wand lit up, revealing racks of brooms stacked haphazardly here and there. He groaned. "This is a _nightmare_. It's going to take forever."

"We'll get it done," Harry said quietly behind him.

"Yeah, well, we don't really have a choice, now do we?" Ron asked, turning toward him. 

Harry had a small, dusty jar in his hands. "You're better at that Bluebell Flame Charm than me," he said, ignoring Ron's question.

"I'm on it." With another flick of his wand, tiny, bright blue flames leapt to life in the jar. As Ron stuck his wand in his back pocket, Harry knelt down and placed the jar in the middle of the floor. Straightening, he took stock of the room.

"All right, Ron. I'll take the Shooting Stars and you take the Cleansweeps, for starters?"

Ron nodded and headed over to a rack along the back wall. He wasn't sure who had been in the broom shed last - and was thus responsible for the sight in front of him - but Ron was going to talk to Professor McGonagall about the state of it. It was ridiculous - brooms with much more advanced customisation charms were mixed in with beginner brooms, brooms with short handles dumped amongst those with long handles, and there was a tonne of brooms in serious need of tail repair that were tossed in willy-nilly! After he stripped off his Quidditch gloves, Ron sat down to get to work. He didn't think he'd been exaggerating when he told Harry that it was going to take forever. 

The boys worked in silence and that was just fine by Ron. He busied himself pulling out one section of the rack at a time, creating piles of like brooms. The work wasn't as bad as he thought it would have been. In fact, it was _almost_ enjoyable - and certainly mindless. Perhaps if it wasn't so bloody hot in the shed, he wouldn't mind it one bit. But it was hot in there. Hot and close. Every so often he'd wipe at his brow and reach around to his back to pull at his jumper; it was still ruddy sticking fast to his back where the sweat pooled. Brilliant. All he'd wanted after finishing up those laps was a shower but nooooo, he'd had to come in to this broom shed and spend his free time - time he could have used to play wizard's chess or Exploding Snap or to reorganise his Chocolate Frog card collection - cleaning up someone else's mess. So there he was, cleaning up another person's mess and getting even more sweaty than he had been when he'd entered the dingy little shed. 

"What's the matter?" Harry's voice was loud and it startled him; he'd almost forgotten that Harry was there as well.

Almost.

It really was mostly Harry's fault that they'd ran those laps and were in there sorting broomsticks now, after all. It wasn't like he could _totally_ forget about Harry. Not that he ever _would_ , because Harry was his best mate and all, but when a bloke landed another bloke a punishment, it wasn't easy to forget him for that reason, either.

"I'm hot," Ron complained. "That's what's the matter." He threw a broom with a scrawny-looking tail onto a pile and cursed when it rolled off the top onto the ground. Stooping, he shoved it back on the pile and made a frustrated noise as he stood, spinning round to face Harry. "I'm hot and sweaty and I want a bloody shower."

"If you're so hot, take off your jumper," said Harry after a beat.

"Fine then. I will," Ron grumbled. He grabbed his collar and yanked the jumper up over his head, his nose wrinkling as the damp fabric passed over his face. God, he really wanted a shower. Or a bath. Or even a bucket of water to dump on himself. 

He shook the jumper out and was about to drop it on the floor when he noticed Harry looking at him strangely. "What?" 

Harry didn't hear him, it seemed - well, he didn't answer and he didn't meet Ron's gaze - and so Ron tossed his jumper at Harry to get his attention. Harry jerked and caught Ron's jumper in one hand, laughing awkwardly and holding it against his chest. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Y'scared me."

Ron frowned and eyed him cautiously. "What's wrong with you?" 

"Nothing!" Harry said a little too quickly for Ron's liking. "Nothing's, er, wrong, Ron. Forget it." He dropped Ron's jumper and turned back to his rack of brooms, pulling a few off of the top rack and busying himself with inspecting them.

"Riiiiiight," said Ron. "Nothing's wrong with you, mate. You went and got all broody in the middle of Quidditch practise and totally forgot about the Snitch and nothing's wrong. You barely said anything to me during those blasted laps and you've not been talking to me during all of this silly broom sorting, but nothing's wrong. You know, you're really thick if you think I'm going to fall for that. I know you better than that, Harry."

Ron took a step closer to Harry and stared hard at the space between his shoulders. He could see the tension spread through Harry's back and he grit his teeth, wondering if Harry was going to ignore him or actually try to really talk about this shite once and for all. 

"You don't really care!" Harry said finally, his voice raised and his eyes narrowing as he whirled around to glare at Ron. "You're just cross cos of what Sloper made us do, and that's it! Just LEAVE OFF, Ron. LEAVE OFF."

Ron's jaw dropped and his eyes widened as he stared back at Harry. He didn't think he heard what he had-- had he? Harry wouldn't really tell him to-- 

Yes, he would. He'd said all sorts of horrid things last year and used that same loud, accusing tone that was bitter around the edges and burnt, hadn't he? Why wouldn't he say those sorts of things to Ron again now? He'd lost Sirius, Dumbledore wasn't being entirely truthful with Harry about things as far as Ron could tell, and there was something really bothering Harry, something that he'd not told Ron about that was eating away at him. 

Knowing all of that should have made it a little easier to bear that outburst from Harry, but it didn't. It _stung_. 

"All right then," Ron said slowly, averting his eyes. "I'll leave off then." He turned round to his own broomstick piles, shoulders sagging. As irked with Harry as he was about the laps and the broomstick sorting they'd got stuck with, Ron would never tell Harry to leave off and mean it. He didn't want to believe that Harry meant it now, but the small, insecure part of himself that reared its ugly head from time to time piped up and insisted that Harry really meant it. Ron should just leave off.

As he stood there in front of his half-sorted rack of Shooting Stars, Ron's chin dropped to his chest and he screwed his eyes shut. One sure-fire way to take your mind off of how sweaty and in need of a shower you were was to have your best mate hit you right where you were most vulnerable, that was for sure. 

"Ron?" Harry's voice was quiet and tentative, cutting through the silence that had fallen between them sharply.

"I don't wanna hear it," Ron mumbled, leaning forward and placing each hand on the metal frames holding up the top shelf.

"All right then," said Harry in a voice no louder than a whisper. 

Ron inhaled deeply and waited for that horrible static sensation hanging in the hair around them to go away. When it went away he could open up his eyes, get back to work, and finally head to the changing rooms for that shower. He and Harry could finish their tasks and ignore each other until Harry worked out of his mood. When that happened, they'd play wizard's chess and drink Butterbeer and laugh and push this little episode behind them, just like they'd been doing the last few weeks.

_Blimey!_

There was something warm and wet moving up over his spine. 

_Oh, dear God._

"H-Harry?" Ron managed to get out, his eyes flying open and his fingers digging into the metal framework of the rack.

There was a lick and a swirl at the nape of his neck, which Ron took to mean 'Yes, Ron?'

"Is that, ah--" he squeaked. "Is that your tongue?"

Lips brushed along his hairline and Ron knew that also meant 'yes'. 

Brilliant. Or not-- No. Not brilliant. Was Harry having him on? Did he _know_ what he was doing to Ron?

"W-w-what are y-you do-doing?" Ron managed to get out.

"You said you didn't want to hear it, so I'm telling you in a way where you won't have to hear what I have to say," said Harry. His lips must have been right against Ron's neck because he could feel them bump against his skin and Harry's breath was so warm ghosting over the tiny hairs and pores all over him and _God_ it was so bloody wicked.

"Oh," breathed Ron, his back pushing toward Harry reflexively. He could sense Harry lean in toward him again and a warning bell went off in Ron's head. Although he didn't want to move to break the magic of whatever this was that was going on just then, he couldn't in good conscience let this go on if...there were just some things he had to know. _Needed_ to know.

"Harry?" Ron croaked, hands falling from the frames as he twisted around to see Harry. 

"Yeah?" Harry looked more nervous than he'd sounded just a moment ago. There was a faint pink colouring his cheeks, he was drumming his fingers against his thigh like he always did when thinking something serious over, and he just wouldn't meet Ron's gaze. 

"Why're you-- What're you _doing_?"

"You said you wanted a shower," said Harry slowly, staring at something fascinating at his feet. "So I figured I'd do the next best thing."

Ron blinked. "But that's-- that's-- why _that_?!"

"Because, er..." Harry's chin lifted and green eyes met blue and held them steadily. "BecauseIwantedtodothat," Harry added quickly. 

Ron's stomach did a spectacular flip-flop. "You did?" he asked breathlessly.

"Er, yeah. I did."

"Oh," said Ron dumbly, staring at Harry with a vacant expression, one that quickly gave way to a very broad and very goofy grin.

"S'that okay?" Harry looked so unsure and Ron's stomach did another flip-flop. 

"Okay?" Ron repeated, his voice sounding unnaturally high to his ears. 

"Yeah," Harry said, the colour in his cheeks deepening.

Honestly, it _was_ okay with Ron. It really was. It was so okay that he didn't even want to ask Harry _when_ or _how long_ because it didn't matter. None of that mattered because Harry'd obviously been thinking about wanting to do something like that to Ron for as long as Ron had wanted to do something like that to _Harry_. Why waste time asking questions about things when he already probably knew the answers? Why waste time debating and labelling when it just _was_? Just _is_. They've always been just Harry and just Ron to one another and this was just something that they'd do together, something that was theirs and theirs alone, just like their midnight wanderings about the castle under the protection of Harry's invisibility cloak or countless other adventures they'd gone off and done together. With one another.

"Yeah," Ron said finally, hoarsely. "It's more than okay, mate." One corner of his mouth turned up and he turned back to the rack, replacing his hands on the frames while taking a deep breath.

"Okay." Harry's breath tickled as it ghosted over the dip between Ron's shoulders and then his tongue slowly moved along the curve, smoothing out any nerves standing on edge, lapping up the sweat there. Ron couldn't help the hiss that escaped past his lips no more than he could help the way his back arched up against Harry's mouth. 

"More," he whispered, the sound turning into a sigh of relief as Harry's tongue slowly made its way along the line of his spine. "S'good. So fucking good, Harry."

"Yeah?" Harry murmured, his tongue flicking at the patch of skin just above the waistband of Ron's trousers. 

"Yeah," Ron moaned. "Yeah." It was really odd, having his best mate's tongue moving up and down his back, licking up his sweat and cleaning him off, but it was also the hottest fucking thing Ron had ever experienced in his life. He wasn't very experienced when it came to things like this, of course, but he didn't think anything in the near future would ever be able to compete with _this_.

"Ron? Can I--?" 

Vaguely Ron heard Harry ask him permission for something and his jaw clenched hard as he nodded. Anything. Anything at all that Harry wanted, it was his for the taking, for the doing, for whatever.

"Turn round."

Ron did as asked, leaning back against the racks when Harry's hands lightly pushed him up against the metal.

"Relax."

"Okay," said Ron, closing his eyes and sighing. He grinned and laughed softly as Harry's fingers gently slid up the fronts of his legs. "Tickles."

"Sorry," whispered Harry, not sounding sorry at all.

Ron opened his mouth to say 'okay' but the only sound he could produce was a gasp-whimper-sigh as Harry hooked his fingers in the laced zip, pulling Ron firmly against him.

"Hi," he whispered, reaching a hand up and pushing Harry's glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"Hi," Harry returned just as quietly. His eyes were enormous and so very green and clear that close up and Ron grinned again. 

"What're you doing?

"Counting your freckles."

"You'll be here all bloody night," Ron said, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips.

"Yeah, you have a point," said Harry, running his finger back and forth under the top lace on Ron's trousers. "I can think of something else I'd rather do right now than count freckles."

"What's that?" Ron asked after a beat, his heart beginning to hammer madly in his chest.

"Guess?" Harry said, ducking his head a little.

Ron placed two fingers under Harry's chin and lifted his head back up, his eyes wide with anticipation and excitement as he searched Harry's eyes. 

"I don't wanna say it."

"Then don't," Harry said, sounding oddly shy and young suddenly.

"I won't, then." Ron slid his fingers back along Harry's jawline and over his ear and into his hair. Fingers twisted and ran through Harry's hair and Ron leaned forward so that his lips just barely met Harry's, the taste of Harry's lips ghosting over his.

_Oh_.

Harry leaned in as well in the next beat and then the hesitation, the shyness was completely gone, giving way to familiarity and comfortableness and knowledge. It was brilliant and clumsy and exciting and jangled nerves all at once. Teeth clacked together, noses bumped one another, and tongues circled and flicked and slid together and apart, leaving both boys utterly breathless when they pulled back for air.

"Bloody _brilliant_ ," Ron gasped, taking in a large breath before claiming Harry's mouth with his own again. He'd always been a big fan of seconds - and thirds, even - and he wasn't about to pass this most delicious meal up. Not now and not ever.

"Brilliant," Harry mumbled against Ron's mouth. His teeth scraped against Ron's lower lip while his hand worked open the laces on the trouser's zip. 

"You," gasped Ron, pulling back from the kiss and resting his forehead on Harry's shoulder. 

"Me," said Harry quietly, his hand fisting around Ron's cock.

"Oh-- oh--" Ron gibbered, practically knocking Harry's hand out of the way as he reached for his waistband. There was a fumbling sound followed by the soft hiss of fabric as Harry's trousers and shorts fell to the floor, pooling around his ankles. "You."

"Us," Harry corrected, his fist opening long enough to make room for his own cock, then closing to bring them against one another, together.

"Us," Ron echoed in a long moan, rocking his hips and thrusting into Harry's hand and against Harry's cock.

Harry made a strangled sound and thrust back, but more slowly, driving Ron absolutely mad. Ron rolled his head a tiny bit, pressing his cheek against Harry's shoulder now, nuzzling at his neck while Harry continued to thrust against him. Panting, Ron rocked back against Harry, against his hard cock and into his warm fingers. His tongue laved along a chord in Harry's neck and then Ron bit him there, marking him, branding Harry as his and his alone. He bit and then swirled his tongue and bit again before blowing lightly across the sensitive flesh, moaning when Harry's free hand moved under their cocks and began to fondle his sac.

That little extra bit of sensation - Harry's fingers kneading him - was all it took to send Ron spiralling over the edge. His eyes rolled back in his head and his fingers pulled hard on Harry's hair as his orgasm ripped through him, spilling out over Harry's hand, both of their cocks, and splashing spectacularly against his belly.

"Oh, fuck," Ron whimpered, and Harry thrust a few more times, his cock sliding against Ron's come and cock. His fingers stilled on Ron's sac and then his entire frame shuddered twice before he came hard and fast, his seed mingling with Ron's. "Harry?"

"Yeah?" Harry rested his chin on Ron's shoulder and Ron sighed, moving his hands from Harry's hair and wrapping them around him, drawing him close.

"I really think I'm dying now, and it's all your fault."

"But your mum won't send me a Howler for this, will she?" Harry asked, his fingers tracing a circle low on Ron's belly, not minding the come at all.

"I reckon she won't," Ron said slowly, mimicking Harry's movements on the small of his back, "'cos I'll die happy."

Harry laughed, then looked like he sobered up quickly. 

"I _am_ sorry, Ron."

Tipping his head to the side, Ron stared up at Harry, watching him quietly. "I know, Harry."

"No," Harry shook his head. "You don't know. I haven't told you about this thing yet. But I'm ready to do that now. Hermione should be there, too, but....you've helped me be ready."

"What's this all about?"

"You'll see. It's important and big and more than a bit scary, but..."

"But what?"

Harry captured Ron's lips for a quick kiss. "But I know I can count on you to be there, no matter what."

"I will be," Ron said solemnly. "Best mate's honour and all that."

"More than best mates?" Harry asked, worrying his lower lip.

Ron traced Harry's lower lip with his thumb and nodded. "More than best mates. Best everything."

Of course Harry was his best everything. He was Ron's concern, Ron's responsibility, Ron's best mate, Ron's best everything, Ron's _Harry_. He was all those things and Ron wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
